


And a Merry Christmas to All!

by Tkeyla



Category: Castle
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: 1_million_words, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tkeyla/pseuds/Tkeyla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beckett arrests a murder suspect who turns out to be a lot more than she could have ever guessed.</p>
<p>Written for asphaltcowgirl for 1_million_words Swap of Joy. Merry Christmas, asphaltcowgirl!</p>
            </blockquote>





	And a Merry Christmas to All!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asphaltcowgrrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphaltcowgrrl/gifts).



_He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,  
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.  
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—  
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!” _

“Beckett,” she finally said when it penetrated her exhausted brain that the noise disturbing her sleep was her phone. Why couldn’t murderers have the decency to dispatch their victims between nine and five?

“We’ve got a good one,” Kevin’s far too cheery voice informed her.  
  
“Where?” she said finally sitting up to clear out more of the cobwebs. A glance at her clock confirmed it was 2:26 in the morning, three short hours after she’d finally gotten home.  
  
“Macy’s,” Kevin said.  
  
“Which Macy’s?” she asked as she began getting dressed to go out into the snow that was predicted to continue for the next 24 hours.  
  
“ _The_ Macy’s,” Kevin said. “You know, 42 nd Street.”  
  
“All right,” Kate said. “I’ll be there in 20.”  
  
“Roger that,” Kevin said before hanging up.  
  
Beckett made sure she had everything she needed before she bundled up in her warmest coat and gloves, stuffing her long hair under her fleece lined hat. Precisely 15 minutes after leaving her apartment, she arrived at the front entrance to Macy’s. “Thanks,” she said when LJ lifted the yellow tape so she could enter the store.  
  
“Up here,” Esposito called over the balcony two stories up.  
  
“Coming,” Beckett responded, going up the festively decorated staircase until she reached the hive of activity. “What happened?” Displays in Macy’s famous Holiday Lane were in disarray, trees on their sides, broken ornaments sparkling on the floor as though there had been a glass snowstorm.  
  
“Security guard,” Espo said, indicating the victim on the floor. The uniformed man was laying face down under one of the trees, only his boots and pants visible from where they were standing.  
  
“Cause of death?” Beckett asked as she gingerly picked her way around the tree to find Lanie kneeling next to the victim.  
  
“Glass icicle through the heart,” Lanie said, glancing up from her clipboard. “It’s still in his body. You can see the tip protruding out of the exit wound.”  
  
“That’s…creepy,” Beckett said, wondering if there was a family that now had to be notified that daddy wouldn’t be coming home. “Next of kin?”  
  
“We haven’t reached the security firm yet. But we didn’t find any family pictures,” Kevin said, handing her the man’s wallet.  
  
“Elliot Smyth,” Kate said, looking at the photo on his license. “Does he look familiar to you?”  
  
Kevin and Javier both shook their heads before Esposito left with one of the uniformed officers who had said something quietly to him.  
  
“Why would someone kill a security guard at Macy’s two days before Christmas?” Beckett asked, addressing her question to no one in particular.  
  
“You can ask our suspect that,” Kevin said, rolling up on his toes.  
  
“Suspect?” Beckett repeated. “You made an arrest already? And didn’t tell me?”  
  
“Didn’t want to spoil the surprise,” Kevin said, nodding his head toward the china department where Esposito was approaching with their suspect.  
  
The man with his hands cuffed behind his back was dressed head-to-toe in red and white fur, a very convincing white beard covering half of his face. That he didn’t appear old enough to have such snowy white hair and beard was only more proof that they were fake. He built sturdily, with no belly that would shake like a bowl full of jelly.  
  
“This is our suspect?” Beckett asked, looking the man up and down with a frown.  
  
“It is,” Esposito said. “Go on. Tell _her_ your name.”  
  
“I’m Kris Kringle,” the man said with complete sincerity.  
  
“Of course you are,” Beckett said. “Now tell us your real name and why you murdered this security guard.”  
  
“My name is Kris Kringle and I would never hurt anyone,” the man said, his eyes not betraying anything by sincerity.  
  
“Sure,” Beckett said. “Does he have any id?”  
  
“None,” Ryan said. “We checked. He also doesn’t have a cell phone.”  
  
“Clearly he ditched them both. Did you find blood on his…suit?” Beckett asked, waving a hand to indicate the ridiculousness of the outfit the man was wearing.  
  
“Not yet. But I’m sure we will,” Espo said, frowning at their suspect.  
  
“You won’t find blood anywhere, Javier,” the suspect said.  
  
“That’s Detective Esposito to you,” he corrected sharply.  
  
“Take him to the precinct,” Beckett said in exasperation.  
  
“I’m not guilty of this crime,” the man protested in a surprisingly gentle voice. “And I don’t have time to answer all of your questions right now. I need to get home. I have…work I must finish.”  
  
“Sure, Kringle,” Beckett said. “You don’t think you’re the first ‘innocent’ man we’ve arrested, do you?”  
  
“You are very good at your job, Kate. You will find I didn’t do this. But you need to release me so I can get home,” the man requested in the same quiet tone.  
  
“Get him out of here,” Beckett ordered, returning to the body and Lanie’s examination. “Anything else?”  
  
“Nothing out of the ordinary for a murder in a department store,” Lanie said. “Why would a man claiming to be Kris Kringle kill this man?”  
  
“I’m going to see if I can find that out,” Kate said. “Call if you find anything.”  
  
“I always do,” Lanie said as Beckett left for the precinct.  
  
~0~  
  
When Beckett arrived, Kevin greeted her with a cup of the awful stuff that passed for coffee, and a folder that was empty except for the arrest record.  
  
“You fingerprinted him?” Beckett asked, studying the report.  
  
“No matches,” Kevin confirmed. “No record of a driver’s license, social security number, nothing. He doesn’t exist.”  
  
“His _alias_ doesn’t exist,” Javier corrected. “Once we get his real name, we’ll find out who he is.”  
  
“Right,” Beckett said. “He say anything on the way?”  
  
“Only that we’ve been especially good boys this year,” Kevin said.  
  
“That’s it?” Beckett asked, studying Ryan then Esposito who confirmed with a nod. “All right.”  
  
She looked through the window into the interrogation room, watching the strange man sit patiently at the table. He wasn’t fidgeting, he didn’t look anxious, he certainly didn’t appear to be someone guilty of murder. He did look vaguely familiar but Beckett couldn’t place where or when she’d met him previously.  
  
“Why didn’t you make him take off the fake beard?” she asked, still studying him.  
  
“It’s not fake,” Espo said.  
  
“He’s not old enough to have white hair,” Kate said, looking at the guys in confusion.  
  
“We told him to remove it and he said he’d have to have a razor to do that. We checked. It’s real,” Kevin said.  
  
“That makes no sense,” Kate said.  
  
“Nothing about this case so far does,” Javier pointed out.  
  
“Yeah,” she said. Taking a deep breath and giving her cup to Kevin, she entered the room, surprised and coiled for action when the suspect stood. As soon as she was all the way in with the door closed, he resumed his seat, looking up at her with a fond expression.  
  
“Have we met before?” she asked before she could stop herself. She couldn’t shake the idea that this man was familiar in ways she could not comprehend.  
  
“Many times,” the man said simply, smiling like each of his memories of her were happy ones.  
  
“No, that’s not right,” she said, shaking her head.  
  
“Just because you do not believe doesn’t make it so,” he told her warmly.  
  
“Fine,” she said in dismissal. “Let’s start with something simple. Like your real name.”  
  
“I am known by many names,” he said.  
  
“I’ll bet you are,” she replied. “What’s your _real_ name?”  
  
“Kris Kringle,” he said calmly.  
  
“But you have no way of proving that,” she said in accusation.  
  
“I’ve never needed to before,” he said.  
  
“Fine, Mr. Kringle. Why don’t you tell me what you were doing in Macy’s while it was closed and why you killed the security guard?”  
  
“I didn’t kill Mr. Smyth. I called 9-1-1 to inform the authorities of the tragedy,” he said, saddened by the death he’d encountered.  
  
“You don’t have a cell phone. How could you call anyone?”  
  
“The store has phones, dear,” he said.  
  
“If you didn’t kill him, do you know who did?” she asked, staring at him and silently daring him to lie to her face.  
  
“I do know, my dear. She’s now on the _very very naughty_ list. But I’m not allowed to tell you her name,” Kringle said.  
  
“Not allowed,” Kate repeated. “ _Not allowed_.”  
  
“You will find the person who did this terrible thing. In the meantime, I really do need to get home,” he said in a way that made her almost believe he had more important things to do than answer her questions.  
  
She shook her head, looking down at the report to gather her thoughts. “Why were you in Macy’s in the middle of the night?”  
  
“Ahh…” he said. “That’s a bit more complicated.”  
  
“Then uncomplicate it,” she demanded.  
  
“I will tell you. You won’t believe me,” he said.  
  
“Probably not. Tell me anyway,” she demanded again.  
  
“There was a mix-up at Macy’s. They didn’t forwarded the letters as they were supposed to do. I flew down to pick them up rather than await their arrival which may have been too late.”  
  
“Wait a minute,” Kate said, holding up one hand. “You broke into a department store in the middle of the night and killed a security guard for some _letters_?”  
  
“I didn’t harm Elliot. And they are not just any letters,” Kringle said. “They are hopes and wishes and dreams. It’s my job to make them come true.”  
  
“What?” she said, frowning at him in confusion mixed with a liberal amount of anger.  
  
“The letters are addressed to me, after all,” he explained. “That actually makes them mine. I wasn’t stealing them as much as collecting them.”  
  
“Let’s suppose for a minute you really were there to pick up some _letters_ ,” she said, clearly not believing it. “Why did Macy’s have them?”  
  
“It’s a long standing tradition at Macy’s for children to deposit letters to me there. The department store is usually very dependable, getting me the letters in plenty of time. I believe that the snow falling over the city made it more difficult this year.”  
  
“Children drop their letters _to you_ at Macy’s,” she repeated.  
  
“Just as you did when you were a child,” he said, his expression again fond and pleased.  
  
“Stop,” she ordered. “You don’t know anything about me. And you can stop right now claiming to be _Santa Claus_. He does not exist.”  
  
“Simply because you don’t believe doesn’t make it so,” he repeated kindly.  
  
“Stop. You are not _Santa Claus_ ,” she said in her firmest tone.  
  
“I am, Kate,” he said. “If you’ll come with me to the North Pole, I’ll prove it.”  
  
“You aren’t going anywhere, much less the North Pole,” she told him. “You are under arrest for murder.”  
  
“Once we arrive at my workshop, I will provide you with the identity of the true killer. I’ll be able to see that the elves finish all the toys and you’ll have the real murderer,” he said in a surprisingly reasonable tone.  
  
“You killed Mr. Smyth,” Kate said.  
  
“You know that I didn’t. I would never do such a thing. Sadly, I only found him after he’d already died. That’s when I called 9-1-1. If I had killed him, why would I wait at the crime scene to be apprehended?”  
  
“Because you didn’t have time to get out,” Kate said.  
  
He shook his head, the bell at the pointed end of his hat jingling softly. “Lanie will find he’s been dead for roughly four hours. I was not there for longer than 45 minutes.”  
  
“You can’t prove that,” Kate pointed out.  
  
“The camera at the front entrance will show me arriving. It may have recorded the reindeer landing the sleigh but I’m not sure.”  
  
“What sleigh? There was no sleigh on scene.”  
  
“It was on the roof when you and the others arrived,” Santa explained. “Fewer questions that way.”  
  
“You supposedly landed on the roof but entered through the front door,” she said in exasperation. This entire conversation was worsening her headache.  
  
“The reindeer flew up to the roof after they dropped me off at the front door,” he explained patiently. “Now they are waiting up on the roof of this building.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“So we can go to the North Pole,” he said in a tone that implied the answer was obvious.  
  
“We aren’t gong to the North Pole,” she said firmly. “You are under arrest.”  
  
“You’ll come with me to the North Pole. I’ll provide you the name of the murderer and you’ll be back here before we left.”  
  
“More Christmas magic?” Kate asked in complete skepticism.  
  
“That’s exactly right,” Santa agreed, sounding jolly.  
  
“Why did you allow Smyth to die, with all of our ‘Christmas magic’?” Kate demanded with emphasizing air quotes.  
  
“I told you, dear. He was already dead. Even Santa can’t cure death.”  
  
Kate shook her head at everything he’d said. “You are obviously delusional.”  
  
“No, I’m Santa. Come with me and I’ll prove it,” he said, sounding utterly sincere.  
  
“You can’t expect me to believe you,” Beckett said. “Santa doesn’t exist.”  
  
“Clearly I do,” he countered. “Allow me to prove it to you.”  
  
Beckett studied him, seeing nothing but warmth and good will in his expression. She felt compelled to believe him, as though he was not capable of lying to her. But still – there is no such thing as Santa. He was mentally ill. That could be the only explanation.  
  
“I assure you that I am real and I am not crazy,” Santa said, adding a ho-ho-ho for good measure.  
  
“I can’t go anywhere with you,” Beckett insisted. “You are under arrest.”  
  
“You can come with me to the North Pole. No one will know of our departure. We’ll be back before we left.”  
  
“So you _can_ alter time in order to deliver all the presents in one night,” she said, inhaling sharply when she realized what she had said.  
  
“Precisely,” he said. “We’ll go up the back stairs to my sleigh. We’ll be in the North Pole in no time.”  
  
She sighed. Her every cop instinct told her he was playing her. Her inner Katie, the one whose Christmas wishes almost always came true, knew he was telling her the truth. Santa would not lie. “All right,” she finally agreed reluctantly. “I’ll go with you to the roof. When we find no reindeer and no sleigh, you are going into the holding cell until the psychiatrist gets here for your evaluation.”  
  
“Fair enough,” he agreed, standing with her and smiling in a warm, comforting way.  
  
She led him out of the interrogation room, looking around the precinct. Everyone was still, frozen like statues. “Did you do this?” she demanded, ready to throw him into the cell without another word.  
  
“I’ve slowed down time. They are fine,” he assured her.  
  
She nodded in uncertainty but started toward her desk.  
  
“You won’t need your coat,” he said, going toward the back stairway.  
  
“It’s snowing outside,” she reminded him, pulling it on.  
  
“Yes it is. But not inside the sleigh,” he said.  
  
She shook her head, following him up the steps, wondering how he knew where the hidden steps were located and where they led. Hardly mattered when he pushed open the door to the roof. She stopped in surprise, the sight of eight reindeer harnessed to a red sleigh enough to stop anyone in their tracks. “They’re real,” she whispered.  
  
“Of course they are,” Santa confirmed. “This is Austen, Bronte, Chaucer, Conan Doyle, Dickens, Morrison, Poe, and Shakespeare.” Each deer nodded to Kate as they were named, their bells jingling softly.  
  
“What happened to Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen?” she asked, rubbing the one that Santa had identified as Bronte between her huge brown eyes.  
  
“Sadly reindeer don’t live forever,” Santa explained, reaching into his pocket for eight carrots he distributed to the deer.  
  
“Why weren’t those taken when you were processed?” she asked, frowning at the oversight. But then again, why should she be surprised? This was Santa, after all.  
  
“Magic, dear,” he said, giving the last carrot to Poe. “We’re returning home. Detective Beckett is coming with us. She has some doubts.” The deer nodded, waiting patiently as Santa helped Kate into the sleigh. She accepted the warm fur blanket, placing it over her jean-clad legs, wondering again if she’d lost her mind completely. Once she was seated on the red leather bench, she felt embraced by the sleigh. It was _huge_ – a hundred times bigger once she was inside than it had been looking at it. That explained another of the eternal mysteries of how Santa could possibly have enough room for all the presents.  
  
As Santa had said, it wasn’t snowing inside the sleigh. There seemed to be an invisible bubble that surrounded it, making it warm and cozy even though it was enormous.  
  
“Here you are,” Santa said, handing her a huge cup of coffee. “This will chase away any lingering chill.”  
  
“Mmm…” she said, sipping it. “Perfect. Thank you.”  
  
He winked at her, climbing into the driver’s seat and calling to the reindeer to “Dash away!”  
  
In what seemed to be the blink of an eye, the reindeer were landing without a bump on a snow covered… _driveway_? _Runway_?  
  
“This is it? We’re here already?” she asked, not understanding how it was possible. Her coffee was still hot and her cup nearly full.  
  
As Santa helped her out of the sleigh, she looked around the snowy landscape in wonder. To her right was a huge red building with enormous windows placed haphazardly. It was difficult to tell how many stories the building was because of the placement of the windows and the doors, some of which seemed to open to nothing but air. The front of the building had a wide staircase with banisters that had been draped with garland and red bows. There were twinkling lights outlining the front of the building but Kate didn’t see any cords. The lights seemed to be there of their own accord.  
  
On her left was a red barn, the doors open to reveal lines of immaculate stalls. There were several reindeer eating hay in the center between the stalls. All the deer looked up at the visitor, their brown eyes curious and welcoming.  
  
“We’re here,” Santa agreed, watching two red and white clad elves emerge from the barn. “Let them eat but don’t put them into the corral.”  
  
“You got it, Boss,” the elf on the right agreed, working with the second elf to unhook the deer from the harness.  
  
“Martha has been looking for you,” the second elf warned, laughing in delight at Santa’s expression.  
  
“Martha?” Kate asked as Santa escorted her up the steps to the ornate front door.  
  
“My mother,” Santa said, sounding more serious than he had the entire time.  
  
“Ahh…” Kate said, not knowing what else would be appropriate to say under the circumstance. But then she didn’t have any idea what was appropriate when one found oneself whisked away to the North Pole by a suspect who turned out to quite possibly be the real Santa Claus.  
  
“Richard! Is that you?” a voice called out when Kate and Santa were standing in the tall foyer. The ceiling was high over their heads with more twinkling lights at the peak.  
  
“Richard?” Kate asked, looking at Santa.  
  
“It’s complicated,” Santa said, turning toward the elegant staircase that took up most of the back of the foyer. There was a woman descending the steps who was no doubt Santa’s mother. She was ageless and beautiful, her red hair short and stylish, her outfit regal and warm in its aqua and deep blue. “Yes Mother.”  
  
“Where in the world have you been, Richard? I know I don’t have to tell you that’s it’s less than 48 hours to C day. _Two days_. And you go dashing off like you don’t have a single care in the world.” She had reached the bottom of the steps, looking at Kate with a genuine smile of greeting. “Hello, dear. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Martha.”  
  
“I’m Kate,” she said, shaking the other woman’s hand.  
  
“Katie Beckett?” Martha asked with an even brighter smile.  
  
“Yes?” she said.  
  
“Oh excellent. Now, Richard, explain. Where have you been?” Martha demanded, her hands on her hips.  
  
“If you’d let him, I’m sure he’ll tell us everything,” a girl said as she approached. “Hey Dad.”  
  
“Hey Daughter,” Santa said, kissing the beautiful girl on the forehead, unnecessarily smoothing down her long red hair. “This is my daughter Alexis,” he said to Kate.  
  
“I’m Kate,” she responded, shaking Alexis’s hand.  
  
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Alexis said, gasping softly when Santa shook his head. She covered her mouth, trying to take back the words she hadn’t intended to say.  
  
“How goes things in the workshop?” Santa asked Alexis to try and cover the awkward silence that had fallen over them.  
  
“You’d know that if you hadn’t dashed off without telling us where you were going or when you’d be back,” Martha reminded him.  
  
“He told us, Grams. He went to New York to pick up the letters,” Alexis reminded her.  
  
“Oh yes. That’s right. Did you bring me that delicious coffee from the street vendor?” Martha asked. She nodded and accepted the thermos Santa produced from his pocket.  
  
“You have the letters, right?” Alexis asked.  
  
“They are still in the sleigh,” Santa said. “Bobby will bring them in as soon as he finished with the reindeer.”  
  
“We thought you’d be back before now,” Alexis said.  
  
“There were complications.”  
  
“Which explains why I’m here,” Kate said.  
  
“Complications?” Martha asked as she continued to enjoy her coffee. “What did you get into this time?”  
  
“Mother,” Santa said.  
  
“We thought he’d committed a murder,” Kate supplied in an effort to be helpful. “I see now he couldn’t possibly be the one who did it.”  
  
“Murder?” Martha said in disapproval. “What happened?”  
  
“Elliot Smyth was killed by his ex-wife,” Santa said.  
  
“Those two,” Martha said with a tsk. “Still, I never thought she’d resort to murder.”  
  
“She’s always been on the naughty list,” Alexis reminded her.  
  
“Do they have children?” Kate said.  
  
“No, they don’t. When we return to New York, I’ll provide you with her address.”  
  
Kate nodded, admiring the magnificent house. “Do we have time for me to look around?” she asked with a twinkle of mischief.  
  
“Of course,” Santa said, unbuttoning his red coat. Underneath he was wearing a red and green flannel plaid shirt over a green tee shirt. He shed his fur pants to reveal jeans under those.  
  
“Give me those, Richard,” Martha said, holding out a hand. “I’ll get them to the laundry.”  
  
“Thank you,” Santa said, handing them to her. “Do you want to come on our tour?” he asked Alexis.  
  
“I’ll go back to the workshop. Start sorting the letters. Check the latest emails.”  
  
“All right. I’ll be there before too long,” he promised.  
  
“Okay,” Alexis agreed, turning to leave through one of the open doors to their right.  
  
“I don’t want to take you away from your work,” Kate said, realizing how busy he must be with Christmas so close.  
  
“Alexis will see that the elves keep at it,” Santa said.  
  
“Where is Mrs. Claus?” Kate asked as she followed Santa into a room on their left.  
  
“You mean Alexis’ mother?” Santa asked, looking over his shoulder at Kate.  
  
“Yeah, unless she was a Christmas miracle as well,” Kate said with a broad smile. She was feeling a little bit giddy. Maybe it was the thin air or the excitement that permeated the atmosphere. Whatever the cause, it made her want to giggle like the little girl she had once been, a very long time ago it seemed.  
  
“No,” Santa laughed. “She came into this world the usual way. Her mother and I divorced.”  
  
“Oh,” Kate said, her eyes wide. “Santa Claus is divorced.”  
  
“I see that surprises you,” Santa said unnecessarily.  
  
“Yeah, I guess it does. I mean, you’re Santa. Why would anyone _not_ want to be married to you?”  
  
“She wasn’t fully prepared for what being Mrs. Claus entailed. She’s more decorative than useful,” Santa explained. “Plus I wasn’t Santa when we got married.”  
  
“You weren’t Santa yet?” Kate repeated in confusion. “You’ve always been Santa.”  
  
“Not exactly. Even though there has always been a Santa,” he said, indicating that Kate should have a seat when they entered what appeared to be an oversized dining room. There was a table that would seat 20 easily, more if they were elves. Waiting on the table were warm chocolate chip cookies and two glasses of cold milk. “Santa doesn’t live forever. When his time comes, a new Santa steps in.”  
  
“A new Santa,” Kate repeated. “Like his son?”  
  
“Ordinarily,” Santa confirmed. “But my predecessor had no children. I’m the former Santa’s nephew, the closest living relative remaining. I couldn’t leave the job unfilled so I became Santa.”  
  
“Oh,” Kate said. “That’s why Martha calls you Richard. You had a life before you were Santa.”  
  
“I did,” he agreed.  
  
“What did you do, if it’s not too personal a question?” she asked, watching to make sure she wasn’t offending him.  
  
“I _was_ Richard Castle,” he said.  
  
“The mystery writer who disappeared 12 years ago without a trace,” Kate said.  
  
“That’s me,” he confirmed. “My uncle became ill and I had no choice but to come to the North Pole and take over.”  
  
“Do you miss your former life? As a regular person?” Kate asked, sadness coloring her voice.  
  
“Parts of it,” he said. “I still write. The books are published under Kristopher Krendell.”  
  
“I’ve read all those books,” Kate said. “I thought they sounded familiar. Now I know why. And I see why you…errr…he… never does promotional appearances.”  
  
“Hard to explain Santa writing murder mysteries,” Santa agreed.  
  
“Wow,” she said, finding herself at a complete loss for words. Rather than try to say anything else that would end up sounding idiotic, she ate a warm cookie.  
  
Santa also reached for one, taking a bite. “Yeah,” Santa said. “A lot to take in.”  
  
“To say the least,” Kate said. “Do you enjoy it, being Santa?”  
  
“It’s a great job,” Santa said with a laugh. “A little isolated. Not many visitors up here.”  
  
“I guess not. And you can’t exactly go on match.com can you?”  
  
“Not a great idea,” he laughed. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest and then we’ll get back to New York.”  
  
“Right. New York,” Kate said, following him and listening to him explain what occurred in each section, all of them separate workshops. One was for painting the toys, one was for assembling them, one for making clothes for dolls and actions figures. There was an entire wing dedicated to making electronics which was supervised by Alexis. Santa didn’t want to try to understand everything that went on with those.  
  
“She attends a boarding school,” Santa explained when Kate asked. “We told them from the start that she couldn’t be in class during December. They are very accommodating.”  
  
“Who’s going to refuse Santa?”  
  
“Exactly. And she can come home of the weekends. The reindeer go and get her.”  
  
“That’s good,” Kate agreed, mesmerized by all that was going on around her. “This is unbelievable.”  
  
“It’s a little overwhelming at first. But you get used to it,” Santa said, pausing to turn his attention to an elf who was approaching at a panicked pace. “Yes, Simone?”  
  
“ _Tulle_ , Boss. We’ve run out of tulle. How can we make Christmas Dream Barbie without tulle?” she demanded, looking up at him in utter dismay.  
  
“Did Amazon not deliver the last order?” he asked with a frown.  
  
“Yes but we used it all up. Now what are we going to do?”  
  
“Go into the fabric house and ask them to make you some right away. I think they are working on Captain America uniform material but we have enough for the next day.”  
  
“All right,” Simone said with rapid nodding. “I hope they can make enough.”  
  
“I’m sure they will,” Santa said in a soothing voice.  
  
“A lot of requests for Captain America?” Kate asked as Simone raced away.  
  
“More than after _The Avengers_. Apparently he’s the _cool_ Avenger now,” Santa said.  
  
“He was a little less…awkward in his latest movie. And he’s the second hottest, after Thor,” Kate said, her face heating up at her remarks. “That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”  
  
Santa laughed at that, winking and silently promising not to tell her secrets. They continued their tour, Kate astounded at the hive of activity that filled every room. But she shouldn’t have been surprised. Christmas was right around the corner and there were a lot of wishes left to fulfill.  
  
They encountered Alexis in what turned out to be Santa’s office, books lining every wall and stacked on every flat surface.  
  
“How goes it?” Santa asked, standing next to where Alexis sat sorting letters.  
  
“Slow,” she said. “There are more this year than ever before.”  
  
“I should really go,” Kate said suddenly. “I’m taking you away from your important work.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Alexis said. “I didn’t mean to imply you were in the way.”  
  
“You didn’t,” Kate assured her. “But it is almost Christmas Day and you are all swamped.”  
  
“You could stay,” Santa suggested, smiling at her. “You’ll still be back before you left.”  
  
“No,” she said reluctantly. “I need to get out of your way.” In truth, she didn’t want to ever leave but she was keeping them from their work. And she could not be the reason that the dreams of millions of children failed to come true.  
  
“All right,” Santa said, kissing Alexis on the head. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”  
  
“It was lovely meeting you,” Alexis said to Kate.  
  
“You too,” Kate agreed, studying Alexis so she would be firmly entrenched in her memory.  
  
“No side trips,” Alexis warned her father, returning to read the next letter.  
  
“I promise,” he said, smiling sadly at Kate. “I guess we should get you back.”  
  
Kate nodded, not trusting her voice. She silently followed Santa back out to the barn, waiting as Santa put on his suit and the elves got the reindeer ready to fly.  
  
“I’ll be back shortly,” Santa promised the elves who looked up at Kate like they couldn’t quite believe she was leaving them.  
  
Kate climbed into the sleigh, overwhelmed with the mix of emotions fighting for supremacy. She was elated, sad, merry, melancholy. And confused by her reluctance to leave not only the North Pole but by the prospects of never again seeing this intriguing man who gave up everything to become Santa.  
  
“Being Santa isn’t really a burden, you know,” he said in answer to her unasked question.  
  
“It still must be hard, to go from world famous writer to someone most people don’t believe exists.”  
  
He shrugged before whistling for the reindeer to take off. “I could hardly leave the world without a Santa.”  
  
“Yeah,” she had to agree, watching his house and barn grow smaller and smaller until she could no longer see them. “Oh. I didn’t tell Martha good-bye.”  
  
“I’ll let her know,” he promised. “She was in the kitchen yelling at the baking elves.”  
  
“She yells at elves?” Kate asked with a laugh she couldn’t stop.  
  
“She was an actress before we moved here. It’s in her make-up to be overly dramatic at all times,” Santa explained with a fond smile.  
  
“I see,” Kate said, watching as they approached New York City. The lights were twinkling happily as though they wanted to greet Santa properly. “It’s beautiful from up here, isn’t it?”  
  
“Magical,” Santa agreed as the reindeer landed smoothly on the roof of the precinct. “You’ll find everything back to normal.”  
  
“You aren’t coming in?” she asked, wanting to spend as much time as possible with him. Surely he wasn’t leaving right this second.  
  
“It’s better if I don’t,” he said, providing the address of Elliot Smyth’s ex-wife as promised.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, looking away from him.  
  
He leaned closer, kissing her cheek. “Thank you for arresting me so we could meet.”  
  
She wiped away the tears that had started without her permission. “I…uhm….”  
  
“Merry Christmas, Katie,” Santa said.  
  
“Merry Christmas,” she returned as she made herself leave the sleigh. “Thank you.”  
  
He nodded and waited until she had backed away. When she was a safe distance from the sleigh, the reindeer took off and disappeared into the snowy sky.

  
  
*  
/\  
/~\  
/~~\  
/~~~ \  
/~~~~ \  
| |

  
Beckett left the Captain’s office to return to her desk. It was unusually hot, even for July in New York, and she detoured by the breakroom for a bottle of cold water. As she reached into the fridge for it, she was distracted by the shiny, state-of-the-art coffee maker that was sitting where their ancient sludge maker had previously been. That made no sense. When did they get an espresso machine? It wasn’t there when she’d arrived that morning.  
  
“Hey Espo,” she called as he saw him pass by the doorway to the breakroom.  
  
“Yeah?” he said, leaning against the doorjamb.  
  
“Where did this come from?” she asked, pointing at the coffee maker.  
  
“What?” he said, frowning at her. “You mean the coffee maker Castle gave us? When he first invaded our space?”  
  
“Castle? What?” she said, staring at him.  
  
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Did you spend too much time in the sun at the crime scene?”  
  
“No,” she said, looking down at her water. “Castle gave it to us.”  
  
“I did,” a familiar voice said.  
  
She looked up in astonishment. It was him – Santa. Except he was clean shaven, his hair brown instead of white. The same twinkle was in his brown eyes, a new smile curving his mouth.  
  
“What? How?” she said, staring at him.  
  
“I think she’s having heat stroke,” Esposito said, clapping Castle…Santa on the chest and leaving them alone.  
  
Santa closed the door, carefully escorting Kate to the couch.  
  
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, still staring at him in disbelief. “Why does Javier know you? What are you doing here?”  
  
“You asked me that already,” he said with a laugh that did not sound like ho-ho-ho. “I’m not Santa any longer.”  
  
“What?” she said sharply. “You can’t stop being Santa. There won’t be a Christmas.”  
  
“ _I’m_ not Santa any longer,” he said, a gentle hand on her arm. “Turns out my real father was supposed to be Santa.”  
  
“Your real father?” she repeated, even more confused. “You never said anything about your father.”  
  
“I didn’t know who he was. Martha claimed she didn’t know. Turns out she’d been naughty, in more ways than one. She did know who my father was, and she did know he was supposed to be Santa. She neglected to tell me any of this until he showed up to tell me the truth.”  
  
“Why?” Kate had to ask. “He just appeared out of the blue and said ‘I’m Santa now’?”  
  
“Pretty much,” he agreed. “He knew my heart wasn’t in it any longer.”  
  
“It wasn’t?” Kate asked, studying him anew. There was a different kind of sparkle in his eyes, a different sort of _fond_ expression when he looked at her.  
  
“Not since you left,” he confessed. “I knew you wouldn’t come back. And…well. Even Santa can’t make every Christmas wish come true.”  
  
“You gave it up? For me?” she asked in wonder.  
  
“Yes,” he confirmed.  
  
“Alexis? Martha?”  
  
“They were fine with returning to New York. I had enough magic left to make it seem as though I never left. I’m back to being Richard Castle.”  
  
“No mysterious disappearance?”  
  
“For a short time. But not twelve years.”  
  
“Alexis is twelve years older,” Kate said, trying to understand.  
  
He shrugged, smiling at her. “Best not to look too closely at the magic.”  
  
“Yeah,” she agreed. “And you at the precinct because…?”  
  
“They think I’ve been here for a couple of weeks. You’ll have those memories now that we’ve talked.”  
  
“But why are you here?” she persisted.  
  
“Ahh… They think there was a murder that copied some of my fictional methods. You supposedly asked for my help and I started hanging around. They think you are annoyed but in truth you aren’t.”  
  
“And you implanted all these memories?” she asked in some disapproval.  
  
“My last measure of magic,” he said. “I would never hurt anyone, physically or mentally.”  
  
“I know,” she said with a bright smile. “It’s so nice to meet you, Richard Castle. I’m a huge fan of your work.”  
  
“It’s nice to meet you, Detective Katie Beckett. I’m a fan of yours as well,” Castle returned with a smile, one that warmed Kate to her soul. A smile she’d been afraid she’d never see again. But here he was. He’d given up being Santa for her. If she hadn’t been willing to give up everything for him, she’d have been overwhelmed by the enormity of his decision. But it felt right. They felt right, that they belonged together. And that wasn’t because of any Christmas magic. It was true love.


End file.
